Don't Wake the Muggles
by Cinnamon3
Summary: AU. The muggles get woken up on page 15 of PS and Harry's life with the Dursleys begins very differently.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:  Spoilers for Order of the Phoenix.  Alternate universe, diversion begins on page 15 of Philosopher's stone.  Absolutely no connection to my other stories.  Vernon is more intelligent than he seems, it is his prejudice toward all things magic that makes him appear slow.  The Dursleys are nasty because they are afraid, and McGonagall only talks that way to babies.  

Disclaimer:  If JKR wants it, she can have it, I have no money.

Don't Wake the Muggles:  Chapter 1

            _Vernon__ Dursley ran without his usual puffing and gasping for air.  Past the receptionist in the ground floor lobby and the uniformed men standing by the lift.  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the boy come on, cloak flapping menacingly, toddling over the plush carpet without touching it and waving a silver stick topped with a glittery five-pointed star.  The phone at the desk rang and he looked to see a red-headed woman calmly pick up the receiver and say in a cheery voice:_

_            "Grunning's Drills, how may I direct your call?"  From the phone, someone sobbed, loud enough to be heard by __Vernon__ on the other side of the room._

"Shhh!  You'll wake the Muggles!"

            A dream, it was only a dream; there was no reason to be afraid of small boys in cloaks.  He needed air.  Going to the window, he threw it open, letting in a cool night breeze, and voices.

            "...Lily an James dead – an poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles –"

            Muggle.  

            That wisp of a man today in the violet cloak had called him a Muggle.  Those voices were coming from the garden, _his_ garden.  With a roar of rage, he stormed down the stairs and out the front door, followed blearily by Petunia.

            He was met by the oddest-looking group he had ever seen.  There were two more of those cloaked freaks, one a very old man, the third clutched a large, spotted handkerchief and towered over his companions.  The word "giant" came to his mind, but such things weren't _normal._

            He didn't know, but he made an odd picture himself, very red in the face, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he searched for words to express his fury.  Finally he settled for:  "How _dare _you!" and that was as far as he got.  Green cloak stiffened and Purple stepped forward, his arms wrapped around a bundle of blankets which had begun to squirm.

            "Mr. Dursley," he began, and was cut off by a wail from the bundle.  He looked at it with mild surprise and amusement.  Only a baby would interrupt Albus Dumbledore.  Green took the child from him and walked a few feet away, cooing mistily at the boy in a choked voice.

            "Harry, Harry.  S'okay lad, ye'll be fine, ye will."  Behind Vernon, Petunia gasped and turned white.  There was only one reason these people would be here in the middle of the night with her sister's brat.  Purple's gaze found hers in the shadows behind her bulky husband.

            "Petunia.  Your sister was one of the best students I ever taught."  Bowing with a grace that belied his age, he said, "I am honored to meet you at last."  All down the street, lights were appearing in windows, framing the curious faces of her neighbors.  Flustered, Mrs. Dursley grappled for an answer, nervously watching more lights appear.  She couldn't very well get rid of these people without attracting the attention of the entire neighborhood.  There was only one thing for it.

            "Won't you come in?" she asked reluctantly.  "Before there's a scene!" she hissed at her protesting husband.  Red-faced, he nodded stiffly and led the way to the sitting room.  "You'd best come too." she said to the large man behind the two people in cloaks, one of the very few who dwarfed her husband.  She cringed at the thought of these people in her home, and the dirt she was sure the large one would track all over her spotless floor, walls and ceiling, but the thought of what her neighbors would be saying tomorrow, what they would _already_ be saying tomorrow was more frightening still.  

            Leaving them to follow her husband to the sitting room, she went to the kitchen to put on a kettle.  Freaks or not, she had a reputation as a hostess to maintain.  She had invited them in, after all.  While the water heated, she forced herself to calmness.  She had made a deal, now it seemed she had to make good on her end.  _"Poor __Dudley__!" _she mourned.  To raise him with her sister's child!  How was she going to break this to Vernon?  When the kettle began to whistle, she turned off the heat and loaded everything onto a tray, carrying it to the sitting room where Vernon waited in stony silence across from the three strangers.  Placing the tray on a long table in front of the sofa, she poured out five cups, giving one to each of her guests, then to Vernon, and finally taking one for herself.  Seated on the floor by the fireplace, the large man came up to her shoulder, and his hands made her porcelain teacup look like a shot glass.  She briefly wondered if she oughtn't to have gotten a pot for him instead, then quickly dismissed the thought.  Hospitality only went so far, especially when one was only preserving one's reputation.  Taking a place next to her husband, she sipped her tea with hands that shook.__

It was Purple who broke the silence at last.  "I'm afraid I have not introduced myself or my colleagues.  I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of the school your sister Lily attended.  This is Minerva McGonagall, our head of Gryffindor house, and Rubeus Hagrid, also of Gryffindor."  McGonagall inclined her head when she was introduced and Hagrid nodded.  Through it all Vernon sat in cold silence with crossed arms, his tea resting untouched on the table in front of him.  When Dumbledore paused, he demanded,

            "What of the boy?" earning a stern look from McGonagall over the top of the baby's head for his rudeness.  Dumbledore only sighed.

            "The boy is the reason we are here tonight."  Taking him from McGonagall, he said sadly, "Lily and James Potter were murdered last night.  Harry is their son, and _you_," he said, looking at the Dursleys, "are his only surviving relatives."  He stopped to let the information sink in, but it didn't take long.  Petunia had been half expecting it, but it was clear Vernon hadn't.

            "Absolutely not." he stated.  "We are not raising something so _abnormal_.  I won't have Dudley exposed to –"

            "Vernon –" Petunia interrupted nervously.

            "– that _freak._" he finished venomously, pointing at Harry, who was sucking on his knuckles, eyes wide.  Hagrid had put down his tea and was clenching a pink umbrella in one hand, his beetle-black eyes snapping.  Dumbledore gave him a warning look and spoke to Petunia.

            "You didn't tell him."

            "Tell me what?" Vernon asked suspiciously.  Petunia bowed her head and wouldn't look at her husband.  "Tell me what?" he repeated, turning to Dumbledore.  "What wasn't I told?" he demanded.  Petunia raised her head to shoot a pleading glance at Dumbledore, who nodded and began his story.

            "The wizarding world is at war, and many have feared for their lives for a very long time.  Therefore, when Harry was born, I took it upon myself to contact Petunia regarding his guardianship should he be orphaned.  She agreed, on the condition that Dudley never show any sign of magical talent.  I have upheld my end of the bargain to this day."

            Petunia slumped on the sofa next to her husband, head in her hands.  "I hoped I would never have to tell you, Vernon." she whispered, but in the quiet that had fallen over the room, everyone heard.

            "Why would _my son_ have m, ma..."

            "Magic?" McGonagall asked crisply, and Vernon winced.  "Lily was your wife's sister, and one of the most talented witches I've ever seen.  Why _wouldn't_ Dudley have magic, or Petunia, for that matter?"  At this Petunia let out a choked sob and shrank away from her husband.  Vernon turned to stare at her, cogs spinning in his head.

            "Petunia?" he asked in disbelief, then hesitantly put a hand under her chin so she would look at him.  Despair dragged at her when she met his eyes, for the first time unable to read what she saw there.

            "I got a letter too, you know.  Just like Lily's.  But I was so scared, I didn't tell anyone, not even Mum.  They said they could stop the magic, could take it away if I didn't want it."  Here she dropped her eyes and Vernon released her chin, his hand falling into his lap.  "So I did." she whispered, "But then Lily got her letter, and she did what I was _afraid_ to.  I was so angry," she looked up again, her eyes burning, "and so _jealous_."  Her voice cracked on the last word and she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.  "Every vacation she'd come home with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats.  Our parents were so proud of her, and weren't the least bit scared of her magic.  They should have been, they _really_ should have been," she gritted accusingly at Dumbledore, as if he were to blame.  "It killed them, after all.  Lily said it was that horrid man the Potter boy called Voldemort.  It was, wasn't it?" she demanded.  He nodded, watching her with sharp eyes as though she were a bomb.  "It's taken her too, now.  She's gone and gotten herself killed."

            Exhausted by her long confession, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes.  Vernon stared at her for a full minute, then gathered her to him, gently brushing tear-soaked hair away from her face.  Awkwardly reaching for the serviettes she had brought in with the tea, he used them to swab down her face.  Opening reddened eyes, she watched him, her exhaustion making her feel detached.  Finished, he kissed her forehead, then leaned his own on hers.  She closed her eyes again and whispered, "I thought you would be angry." He was quiet for a bit, then admitted,

            "I was, at first, but I think I understand better now."  He felt her sigh as though the weight of the world had been dropped from her shoulders and heard her murmur.

            "You know, I almost wish I could go back, make things right with Lily, maybe even go to Hogwarts.  I just wish I still had the chance."  Then she smiled at him, for the first time since dinner that evening.  "But then I might not have met you."  Her brow furrowed under his and she said, "I thought you were afraid of magic too."  He returned her smile, relieved to see it and lied,

            "Only for you, Love."  A clinking noise brought them back and they turned to see Dumbledore moving his teacup out of Harry's exploring reach.  It was very late and everyone was tired, including Harry, who was beginning to squirm again.  Petunia disentangled herself from Vernon and reached for the fussy child.  "Might I?" she asked Dumbledore.  Feeling more relief than he showed, the ancient wizard passed Harry to her.  

            Taking Harry from him, she sat him on her knees facing her and examined his face.  Round emerald eyes met hers with equally intense scrutiny and he made a grab for her unbound hair, capturing some in a tight fist before she could whisk it away.  _"Either I'm slipping, or this child is fast,"_ she thought, picking him up to extricate her tresses.  Catching a whiff of something foul, she wrinkled her nose and gave him to Vernon.  "I have some nappies Dudley grew out of upstairs.  I'll only be a minute."  As she climbed the stairs, she heard Dumbledore tell McGonagall, 

            "I'll lay you ten galleons he'll play seeker, not chaser."  She didn't hear McGonagall's reply, but when she returned they were still discussing the bet.  "... always up for a wager, why not this?" Dumbledore asked teasingly.

            "I bet when I know I've a chance of winning." she returned dryly.

            Petunia retrieved Harry from Vernon and made quick work of the soiled diaper, expertly replacing it with the one she'd found.  Standing, she propped the boy on her hip and waited for those in the room to stop talking.  Once she had their attention, she took a deep breath and said, "I want Dudley to decide for himself about the magic, when he is old enough."  Her announcement was greeted with stunned looks from all in the room but Dumbledore, who only nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:  I changed a few small things in chapter one, but no plot stuff, just grammar and spelling, so it's been reloaded.    

Disclaimer:  If JKR wants it, she can have it, I have no money.

Don't Wake the Muggles:  Chapter 2

**6:00 a.m.**

_Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Bee—_

            Vernon's large hand hit the snooze with a crash, sending the clock skittering across the bedside table and onto the floor.  Rolling over with a groan, he stopped when he felt a small form between him and his wife.  Glancing down in surprise, he groggily recalled the events of the night before with dismay.  He wasn't to be given time to dwell on them however, because the alarm had woken the baby and Petunia as well.  Opening bright green eyes under a jagged cut that was probably sore this morning, Harry looked for a familiar face and found none.

            "Good morning."  Petunia rasped, just as Harry's lip began to tremble.  Confused, the child looked for the source of the voice that sounded like, yet unlike his mother's.  His inevitable cries were temporarily forestalled, but Petunia couldn't have looked anything less like her sister.  She released the breath she'd been holding when his heartbroken wails filled the air.  It was going to be a long day.

            Snoring like a small mountain, Dudley had slept through everything; the visitors, the alarm, and Harry.  Petunia had purchased a booster seat for him a few weeks ago to replace his highchair, and now she put both into use, dragging the seat out of storage and wrestling him into it while Vernon settled a forlorn Harry into the highchair.  Turning to his wife, he asked, "You'll be all right?"

            Seeing a stranger in _his_ highchair, Dudley screamed, "Mine!" angrily.  Petunia smiled tiredly.  

            "Yes.  Go shower, I'll be fine."  Kissing her on the cheek, Vernon went upstairs, leaving her alone in their kitchen with two _very_ unhappy children.

            Turning to her son she said in what she hoped was a firm tone.  "Dudley, we have to _share._"  Dudley stared at her for a moment, puzzled by the new word, then resumed his screaming.  She tried a different tactic.  "Highchairs are for babies, Dudley.  You're a big boy."  No luck.  Standing, she straightened her shoulders.  She was _not_ going to plead with her son.  Getting out the breakfast things, she began singing,

            _"Hush little baby, don't say a word._

_            Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird…"_

            Cereal for Dudley and a bottle of formula for Harry.  Mollified by the food sweetened with a touch of sugar, Dudley quieted, allowing her to concentrate on her nephew, whose crying had ceased while she sang.  He was examining the bottle as though he'd never seen one before.  Recalling the curiosity of Lily's friends about all things Muggle, it occurred to her that maybe Harry _hadn't.  A vision entered her mind of her sister, at the age of five, cradling a doll with hair as red as her own, and singing, _

            _"Hush little baby.."_

            This was followed by memory, the year before Lily had gotten her letter, singing a duet at Christmas, her soprano in perfect harmony with Lily's rich alto.

            "More!"  She'd been gone too long, and Dudley was demanding attention.  Rescuing his bowl before it spilled, she began a song that she had only heard in her head for many years, her mind filling in Lily's part.

            _"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,_

_            Jack Frost nipping at your nose."_

            Reaching out, she tapped Harry's nose with her finger, causing him to  squeal with glee.  Picking up the bottle, she held it for him, thankful that he was still at the stage where he wanted to put everything in his mouth.

            _"Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow,_

_            will find it hard to sleep tonight."_

She yawned. _"I certainly won't."_  she thought, twisting to look at the clock, _"I'm exhausted, and it's only…"_

Vernon was standing in the doorway watching her, his hair still damp from the shower.  She knew she was blushing.  She _never sang in front of him.  "Grub's on the stove," she said, pointing, hoping he wouldn't see her distress.  Why had she let her guard down?  __"A few __midnight__ visitors and you act as though the world has been set on its ear." she thought, cursing herself mentally.  Vernon blinked and brought the food to the table, frowning.  "What?" she asked, nervous, but it came out sharper than she'd intended._

            "I don't think I've heard you sing before." He replied.  She shrugged.

            "I haven't really sung since I was a child."  Hoping he wouldn't make the connection, she changed the subject.  "I need you to pick up some nappies for Harry tonight.  I've only a few that fit him."  If Vernon noticed the abrupt change, he said nothing of it, instead promising to purchase the requested diapers.

            The owl arrived while she was finishing the breakfast dishes.  Vernon had left for work a few minutes ago, cautiously edging open the door and peering around for curious neighbors before dashing to his car.  Petunia heard its door slam and turned to face her son and nephew, drying  her hands on a towel.  Dudley was twisting in his booster seat and insisting, "Out, out" while Harry sucked on his fist again, watching everything with big eyes.  Suddenly he crowed, 

            "Owl!" and for a second Petunia thought he had joined Dudley in shouting, "Out!" but then Harry waved at someone behind her.  Perched on the windowsill and pecking the glass was a miniature owl about the size of her fist.  She was puzzled for a bit before remembering that such birds carried letters.  Hastily she opened the window to let it in, hoping her neighbors hadn't seen.  Too late she noticed Mrs. Next Door's curtains flutter and knew she was in for it.  The tiny owl hopped onto her pristine counter, fluttering its wings excitedly and stuck out its leg to be relieved of its burden.  She'd seen Lily receive many such letters but had never gotten one herself.  She'd pretended the birds were frightening or disgusting, or both, but now she untied her letter with trembling fingers.  The owl pecked her softly to get her attention and she stared at it for a moment before understanding it wanted to be fed.  _"Lily always fed the owls something," she reflected, rummaging in her bread box.  _"Toast!___  That's what it was."  Bread would have to do.  While the owl ripped the piece to shreds with razor-sharp talons, she bribed Dudley into quiet with a biscuit  and began to read._

Dear Mrs. Petunia Dursley

            I hope this missive finds you and yours well.  It was unfortunate that our meeting occurred at such a late hour, as I am certain you have many questions.  While I desire to address them personally, the events surrounding the death of your late sister and her husband have thrown the wizarding world into an uproar and require my immediate attention.  I have established a contact near your home to whom you might direct your questions.  Should you indeed wish to meet her, you must send your affirmative using this owl to a Mrs. Arabella Figg stating the time and place.  I believe she will prove to be an invaluable ally for you in the coming days.  You are to be commended, my dear; the challenge you have taken on is a difficult one and an enormous responsibility.

            As per your request, the spell holding Dudley's magical talent at bay has been removed.  Undoubtedly you remember from your own childhood the events perpetrated by untrained magic and have some idea what to expect.  You must know that many wizarding families encourage such things, but find them often inconvenient, especially around uninformed Muggles.  Wandless magic is a phenomenon exhibited only by the very powerful, the very desperate, or the very young.  Discouraged during childhood, this talent can become slightly blocked by a willing individual, no matter what age the choice is made, or why.

            I have placed Arabella in charge of funeral arrangements for your sister.  The Potters were much loved by many and the mourners are expected to be quite large in number.  The ceremony has been set for two days hence, just outside of Godric's Hollow.  If you should contact her, Arabella would more than appreciate your input regarding the arrangements.  I must confess that she may be unfamiliar with Muggle customs.

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

            Petunia's first reaction upon finishing the letter was to be indignant.  Lily, buried in Wizard fashion!  _"But she chose that life," a voice reminded her, _"as you chose yours."_  She sighed.  If she wanted things done right, she would have to see to them herself.  And if that middle paragraph wasn't a warning, she didn't know what was.  _Send your affirmative using this owl to a Mrs. Arabella Figg._  She considered the small owl, who had finished the bread in record time and gone to sleep with its head under its wing.  She __could meet this person, she supposed, but…  She straightened her shoulders.  She had made her decision last night.  She was not going to be afraid.  She __refused to be afraid.  Searching a drawer for paper, she carefully penned her reply in neat, precise script._

Dear Mrs. Figg,

            I would be pleased to make your acquaintance.  I will be home all day today and would welcome the company.

            Yours,

            Petunia

            It wasn't quite true, she was nervous and wasn't ready for her neighbors to see one of these wizarding folk strolling up her front walk, but she was less ready to enter the residence of one, or take two small children into an unknown area of town.

            She folded the paper small and gave it to the owl, who clamped it in its beak and flew out the window.  Scarcely five minutes had passed before it returned, bearing another message, which said only: 

            I will come at 9:00.

            Nine o'clock!  She wasn't ready!  Her nervousness was quickly replaced with anxiety, and she scrambled to prepare herself, the two boys, and her home for her visitor's arrival.  Before she knew it, the door bell was ringing and she still hadn't found Dudley's baby things for Harry.

            Peering through the small window in the door prior to opening it, Petunia sighed in relief.  A perfectly mundane-looking woman stood on her doorstep, not a hint of magic about her.  She was elderly, which surprised Petunia, who was expecting someone far younger.

            "Are you Mrs. Figg?" she asked uncertainly when she'd got the door open, fighting a squirming Harry all the way.

            "I am." She answered.  "You must be Petunia.  I hope this isn't too early."

            "No, no.  Please come in," she invited, and led the way to the sitting room where Dudley was parked in front of the television, oblivious to all else.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:  Reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  (Hint, hint.)

Chapter 3

Petunia left Harry with Figg when she heard the kettle whistling and returned a moment later to find the two holding an animated conversation, little of which was English as she knew it.

Figg smiled at her, accepting the cup she poured with a nod of thanks, expertly keeping it well away from Harry.  "He's bright, this one.  Remembers me, he does," she said with pride.  "Only saw him the once or twice when…" she stopped, her face falling and made herself continue.  "…when 'is parents 'ad no minder."  Petunia studied the light playing over the cup she held, the regret she'd been holding at bay since the news last night filling her heart and weighing it down.  Despite this and a myriad of other emotions, she was loath to let her guard down in the presence of a stranger, even this one who had been chatting so amicably with her nephew a moment ago.  She schooled her face into a polite mask and broke the awkward silence that had fallen.  

"Dumbledore said you wanted to discuss funeral arrangements," she said, feeling a bit of inward pride at the level tone she'd maintained.  Her skill in diplomacy was much prized by her husband, who relied on her to maintain their reputation in the community.  If she was perfectly honest with herself, which she wasn't, it was the real reason he had married her.  She wasn't _always diplomatic, of course, but she could be when she wanted to._

Arabella proved to be well-versed in Wizarding funeral traditions, but seemed only vaguely acquainted with the Muggle ones.  Despite this, Petunia got the distinct impression that her guest had lost many from both backgrounds in the very recent years.

In the process of explaining the Wizarding ceremony, Arabella was scribbling with one of Dudley's crayons on a serviette.  "Here," she said, pointing with the blue wax, "is where the immediate family, that's you, stands, and here…" but Petunia cut her off.

"Me?  Hold on a tick.  Who said I was going?"  Arabella looked up at her in surprise and not a little shock.

"You're not _going?" she asked.  "Whyever not?"  Petunia looked down in silence where the crayon lay forgotten on its diagram.  There were many reasons she couldn't go, none of which she wanted to tell this woman.  She fumbled for an answer that would satisfy her guest without revealing her inner turmoil._

"Dudley… Vernon will be working that day, and I can't ask him to watch the boys."  It was false and she knew it; she'd taken Dudley to a funeral just last year.  Moreover, her guest seemed to know it, as she was looking at her in faint reproach.  Averting her eyes, she reached for the kettle and refilled their cups, hoping to distract them both.  Figg wasn't even bothering to respond to her weak excuse, and instead sat waiting patiently for the real reason.  She reminded her so much of her grandmother that it was unsettling.  Suddenly she was eleven again, and her father's mother was waiting for an answer, patient as ever.  Grandma Evans had always known when she wasn't telling the truth.  By the time she started grammar school, she'd given up even trying to fool her confidante.

That old matriarch was dead, just months before Lily had gotten her letter, but today another seemed to have taken her place.  Now it was Harry between them, not a kitchen table in her grandmother's sunlit home with a parchment envelope on its worn surface.  She still feared the magical world; little had changed in that regard – though she knew more about it now.

Patient as she was, it seemed Figg wasn't going to wait for an answer that wouldn't come.  She set Harry on the sofa beside her and leaned forward, her voice earnest.  "Petunia, love, I know its got to be hard to be mixin' with Wizarding folk, given your history, but the Wizarding world, not the Muggle, is the one Lily made her own."

"So I've got to also?"  Petunia demanded, blinking stinging eyes.  She would _not tear up in front of this woman._

"No, dear."  Arabella sighed and removed Petunia's teacup from her shaking hands.  Setting it on the table, she took one in her own.  "But Lily loved her family more than life itself, and I believe she would want you to be there."  Petunia's earlier resolve not to cry cracked and she pulled away from Figg, hiding her face in her hands, but feeling tears leak through her fingers to run down her arms.  Dudley had not been as oblivious as they'd thought and had been distracted since hearing his name a few minutes ago.  Seeing his mother upset, he abandoned the telly with uncustomary haste, trotting over to her and tugging on her skirt.  

"Mama?" he asked, pulling more insistently.  "Mama!" he said louder when she didn't respond, becoming alarmed.  Aware that she could no longer hide her tears, Petunia leaned over and grunting, heaved him into her lap.  Wrapping her arms around him and rocking him, she buried her cheek in the back of his shoulder, as much for her comfort as his.  

In he privacy of his office, Bartemius Crouch Sr. leaned back in an executive style chair and examined his writing.  Very recently, a wealthy member of the community had been on trial as a Death Eater, but it seemed even the D.M.L.E. was no match for the best solicitor money could buy.  The man had gotten off scott-free, much to the displeasure of his superiors.  They had blamed him for letting such a man slip through his fingers.  His reputation had suffered for it, and he wasn't about to let another so obviously guilty get away.  He scowled, tipping forward to sign the letter with decisive strokes.  Sirius Black would not be given a chance to make a fool of him, he'd see to that.

The two days to the funeral passed more quickly than Petunia would have liked.  Vernon hadn't approved of her going, and she hadn't even told him everything, certainly not how she was getting there.  She'd just said someone was picking her up at nine, and let him assume she meant in a car.  She was nervous enough about the portkey without his coin added.  Why she had agreed to all this she didn't know.  She'd known at the time she was sure, but she'd made up her mind, and she wasn't going back.

This time she was ready when Arabella knocked.  She'd happened to glance out the window in time to see a turquoise Ford Angelina roll up and a large group pile out.  Arabella had said Molly Weasley had small children, but she hadn't said how _many_.  A very pregnant Molly was first out, followed by no less than six boys crowned with varying shaded of red hair.  Two looked to be about Dudley's age and the youngest couldn't have been older than Harry.  

Slightly dismayed, she scooped up her nephew and went to answer their knock, greeting everyone and ushering them inside with as much haste as was seemly, glancing up and down the street for curious neighbors before she shut the door.

"We've a few minutes yet," Arabella said, and began introductions.  Charles or "Charlie" as he insisted on being called, would be starting at Hogwarts next fall, William also insisted on "Bill," but Percival positively beamed when introduced so formally.  The twins were too young to care, but she relented and introduced them as Fred and George and the youngest as Ron.  Petunia caught her watching the oldest to while she did this, and realized the elderly woman had been ribbing them.  They soon forgot about the teasing though, when they caught sight of the telly.  It was set to a toddler's programme, but even the older boys stared at it, fascinated, and had to be peeled away when it was time to leave.  

Eyeing the unpretentious-looking cloth diaper bag Molly held, Petunia felt the butterflies in her stomach burst into flight.  Arabella must have seen the look on her face, because she gave her shoulder a squeeze and turned to make sure everyone was gathered and in contact with the bag.  It took all of her willpower not to scream when she felt a jerk behind her navel and her home disappeared.


End file.
